Time To Play by KA Richardson (best book club books of all time TXT) 📗

of person doesn’t let kids turn on lights when they’re scared, anyway? You did the only thing you could do. You ran away before something bad happened, worse than him touching you, and that’s bad enough. Why didn’t you tell?’

‘Coz I was an idiot,’ said Marlo, her eyes glistening. ‘He told me if I ever told that he would hunt me down no matter which home I was in, and he’d finish what he started. I believed him.’

‘Not an idiot, love, just a scared kid. You don’t have to be afraid any more. He can’t touch you. I’d never let anyone touch you.’

Marlo let Ali hold her, resting her head on his shoulder.

‘You’re right,’ she mumbled against him. ‘It does feel better getting it out.’

‘Told you so,’ said Ali, kissing her on the head. ‘Now that we are both about ten tons lighter though, I reckon it’s time we got some more sleep. Bedroom?’

Marlo nodded, got to her feet and shyly held out her hand.

Connor’s Parents’ House, Sunderland – 17 November

Fred parked his car outside the front of the house and rested his head on the steering wheel. He’d had a shit night; one of the girls had been found dead in the brothel – the fourth one in six weeks. This wasn’t just an overdose though: one of the johns had been a little too kinky and she’d died in the throes of his orgasm. Needless to say, he wouldn’t be coming back to see Fred’s girls. He’d left with a broken nose, bruised pride and an attitude that stunk to high heaven.

Fred wasn’t too bothered about the girl. There were plenty more where she came from: it was more the fact he’d had to drive out to the moors in the dead of night to dump the body. Over the years, he’d lost count of the number of bodies he’d dumped out there. Nature and the wildlife were great at disposing of bodies.

He rubbed his eyes. He felt too old for this shit today.

Pushing the front door open, he paused momentarily, confused by the silence. Normally Sheila was raging holy hell when he came round on a morning.

‘James,’ he yelled, cocking his head to one side and listening.

Hearing a whimper from upstairs, he made his way up to their bedroom.

It was the smell that hit him first. The central heating had kicked in a while ago from the stuffy temperature in the house, and the heat had exacerbated the stench.

Sheila was lying in bed with the duvet curled at her feet. Beneath and around her was a pool of her own piss and shit, and it had been there a while.

‘Sheila, where’s James?’ he asked, crossing the room and trying not to wrinkle his nose in disgust.

Vacantly, she looked up. ‘I made a mess,’ she whispered forlornly.

‘It’s OK, let’s get you cleaned up.’ He sighed.

It took him a good fifteen minutes to get her cleaned down and seated in her chair with a cup of tea. He left the bed, though. There was no way he was taking care of that mess.

Leaving Sheila, he went searching for James. His clothes were in the wardrobe, so he hadn’t done a bunk.

He wasn’t anywhere in the house and Fred realised the only place left was the shed. On his way down the path, he smiled to himself. His adopted brother was a sick fuck – they were cut from the same cloth, even if they didn’t get on. He knew James had spent all their life savings on the girls from Fred’s brothel. Hell, he even knew James had pilfered a couple of thousand from Marie’s student account – she’d phoned Fred in tears, unable to pay her university fees. And like a dutiful dad, he’d handed over the money.

Connor had always been a little shit, but he had a soft spot for his little girl.

He didn’t quite understand why he’d never confronted James about the money though, brotherly love maybe? Not bloody likely.

The shed door was unlocked – that was his first warning that something was wrong. Fred had some idea about what went on behind that door, and James always made sure it was locked.

Pushing, he realised something was behind the door, something heavy. Shoving hard, he squeezed through the gap and into the shed itself.

‘Shit.’ He gasped, jumping backwards as he came face to shoulder with a very dead James. His face had a bluey-grey hue, his tongue protruded from his mouth, and the rope round his neck had left deep grooves where it had taken the man’s weight.

‘What the fuck have you done, you dumb son of a bitch?’ said Fred, kicking out at James’ leg. Looking around, he quickly found the note and read it carefully. ‘You snivelling little bastard, grassing me up to end your guilt? This note didn’t exist,’ he enunciated the last part of the sentence slowly. He felt anger burn at the attempted betrayal. ‘If you weren’t dead already, I’d fucking kill you, you useless bastard.’

He was so busy cursing he didn’t realise the door had opened until Connor squeezed through the gap. Fred couldn’t help but grin at the way Connor’s face paled as he saw the man he’d always believed to be his dad reduced to a lump of flesh swinging from a rope.

‘Noooo!’ cried Connor, taking his dad’s weight and screaming at Fred to help him.

‘That’s not gunna happen, son,’ said Fred calmly, a recovery plan starting to unfold in his mind.

‘Fred, please,’ begged Connor. ‘I don’t care about all the other shit, please help him, he’s your brother, please.’ His voice broke as he continued, ‘He’s my dad, please, help me.’ Connor dropped to his knees, tears coursing down his cheeks.

‘He was my adopted brother, and one I never really cared for,’ said Fred. ‘He’s